The Sun Weilders

10

We were at the parking lot of Faz's Family Diner. I sighed and looked at Mr. Dougal. "Any chance you'll be done soon? I have band practice in a few minutes."

Mr Dougal nodded. "Sure, I'll give you the condensed version. Basically there will be Pillagers of Ice trying to turn Emry away from being a Sun Weilder, and you have to be the one to find out who they are and stop them before they succeed at their job. The way to tell who a Pillager of Ice is," he paused to point at the back of his hand, "is they will have a tattoo shaped like an icicle on the back of their hand. You can't miss it. An array of blue and white. You cannot let Emry hang out with those people. She is too strong a Sun Weilder to lose."

I looked up at him and nodded. "I'll do my best, Mr. Dougal."

He climbed out of my truck and waved. "Thank you, Crimson. And, believe me, she'll realize she loves you too one day or another."

I laughed. "Gotta keep my love from the Icees. Man, what a protector I am."

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I blatantly stared at the ratty inside of my truck. It was a complete mess, La Chica's food wrappers everywhere. I shook my head absently; Emry had never said anything about my mess of a vehicle, but I bet she was thinking it.

I pulled out the electric-red guitar case that Emry always said looked like my hair, and smiled. She really was the light in my life.

My band's rehearsal warehouse was in the same neighborhood as Frederick St. Dougal's, admittedly, because that's the only place my band mates could find to practice for a cheap price.

I walked into the old storehouse, and immediately I caught a whiff of something unpleasant, and I scrunched my nose up.

"Bonnie! Ringo! Van! Y'all here?" I yelled.

Three heads emerged from behind a wall over to the right. My band mates.

"We've been waitin' for at least thirty minutes, man!" Bonnie, my lead bassist shouted. He was a stout guy, with hair that had originally been blonde, now dyed a dark purple. He was my band's tallest member, and his trademark was his bright red bow tie. His name wasn't really Bonnie, but when I had first asked his name, he had said 'Beau Buchanan Johnnathan Lyrie', and I had shortened it to 'Bonnie' over time.

"You were with Emry, weren't you?" This came from Van, our band's oldest member, at twenty. He reminded me of a stereotypical army general, short and muscular. He had thick long blonde hair, going down to the same length as Emry's. He was our drum player, his trademark being the tattoo of a red bird on his arm always exposed due to the sleeveless jean jackets he wore.

"I suppose," I replied, and Ringo came bouncing across the hardwood floor to me. He had always reminded me of a skunk, with his black roots and silver-dyed hair. He was a tall and lanky boy, with silvery wide eyes.

"Can we just practice?" Ringo inquired. I nodded.

"Van, make sure to beat heavily on the drums, but not too heavy. I got that new drum set cheap to replace the old ones you busted the hole in."